


Harvey The Wallbanger

by drtempledragon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Asexual Character, F/M, Humor, Marriage, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18987958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drtempledragon/pseuds/drtempledragon
Summary: Doctor had offered Donna his arm whilst indecently exposing his hair follicles on the planet of the hats, leading to a sorry state of mistaken identity.Aliens really made them do it.[Ten/Donna | Mature | Post 4x07 The Unicorn and the Wasp]Originally posted on LiveJournal and archived on Teaspoon.





	Harvey The Wallbanger

~~~~~

Donna had wanted to go the ‘planet of the hats’ after exercising her flapper dress sense in 1926. She was so enthusiastic about there being such a place that she’d piloted the TARDIS herself, with the Doctor hovering nearby with the mallet for percussive maintenance. The landing was smooth, and Donna scurried down the grated ramp and peered around the blue doors. Sure enough, everywhere Donna looked the people were wearing hats of all shapes, sizes and colours. Some of them seemed to defy gravity. Others definitely defied air resistance, as some people were walking at considerable pace rather than soaking up the abundant sunshine.

She bounced enthusiastically and disappeared to her room. She returned to the console room in slip-on patent leather shoes, black leggings, a long cerise short-sleeved top that billowed over her thighs, which was secured by a black patented belt, and a black silk hat with a pink rose attached to the brim. A large black jewelled ring completed her look. The Doctor’s brown pinstriped form was standing just outside the police motif doors, and Donna’s hat needed no adjustment to pass through the wooden frame to meet him.

The Doctor greeted her with a cursory glance at her attire and a pleased smile. Donna closed the door behind them and adjusted her auburn hair, pushing the ponytail with her hand to hang behind her shoulders. The Doctor offered Donna his arm, and she linked hers with his, with his other hand resting on her fingers. They joined the winding path in the park they had landed in, but they didn’t go unnoticed. Both the Doctor and Donna were used to passing looks; him for centuries of travel, her for distinctive hair colour. Being yanked apart and handcuffed within minutes of arriving was comparatively new, though. 

***

“What?” The Doctor exclaimed.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Donna added with equal exasperation.

“Sustained physical contact in public is not permitted without both parties wearing appropriate head covering,” the law officer repeated sternly as he cracked his knuckles outside his fingerless leather gloves.

“Who would make up such a rule?” Donna continued in her irritation.

The officer’s eyebrow quirked from beneath his black hat, but then leaned back in his chair behind his desk and considered her. “How many units of alcohol have you consumed, Mrs…?”

“Noble, Donna Noble. And I’m not a –“

Before she could finish, the Doctor tapped her shoe with his trainer and coughed loudly. “Forgive her,” he placated. “Her hat is not sturdy enough to withstand the sun’s strength this fine afternoon.”

The officer snorted derisively and wriggled his fingers, “And what about you, Mr Noble? How’s your head in the heat?”

“Oh no, I’m the Doctor,” he clarified.

“A Doctor?” the officer blurted, before admonishing, “Goodness, you of all people should have a headdress.” The officer turned to his computer screen and began typing. At the first pause, he smiled. But after typing some more, he frowned. He cast a suspicious glance at the Doctor. “There is no Noble registered as a Doctor,” he stated.

Before the Doctor could speak, the officer turned to Donna. “There is full record of you, Lady Noble,” he said respectfully. “I believe this man is lying about his status as a Doctor. The penalty for falsely encroaching your caste is grave.”

“I’ve only just qualified,” the Doctor quickly interjected. “Yet to go to the graduation ceremony and pick up my doctor hat.”

The officer still did not acknowledge the Doctor. “My Lady, the law is still clear on the matter of pure physical contact. The lower castes may be overlooked, for their standing is not important. But you, My Lady, simply cannot be uncovered in public and fondly hold onto someone outside wedlock.”

“Okie-dokie. Lesson learned. Won’t do it again,” the Doctor tried to wrap up the incident.

“There were many witnesses to the crime,” the officer pointed out.

“What’s the punishment?” Donna huffed. “Slap with a rule on our uncovered body bits?”

“For lesser castes, perhaps,” the officer continued in his tempered tone. “But for you, My Lady, you must maintain your standing. Either you affirm your marriage pledge with legal witnesses, or execute this man for soiling your caste. Judging by your fond display outside, I assume I will be phoning a Priest & Registrar. But it is my duty to inform you that if you do neither, the state will execute both of you. The state does not suffer those who would defy the order of things.”

Donna and the Doctor exchanged glances. It was her decision to make.

***

Donna couldn’t believe it. Once her handcuffs had been removed and she had finally taken off her hat, no-one had laid a hand on her as she was guided to her holding cell. Part of her had wanted to be roughly treated, so she could have an excuse of decking them and finding the Doctor. But once she had been presented with ceremonial robes in black and auburn, she knew this was more than a bad hair day. Here, it seemed red heads ruled the social roost, but rather than increasing their freedom and prospects it tied them to archaic rules and accepted, expected behaviour.

It seemed that being ginger singled you out for trouble regardless of time or place. Maybe the next time the Doctor was unconscious she’d dye his hair the appropriate colour for his lifestyle. Maybe it would get him out of that blue and brown pinstriped rut and into something more fitting. Maybe people would think they were related, and never mention the marital status they were about to gain.

She had been taken into an ornately carved white stone building that strongly resembled a church, save for the small windows; natural light was replaced by artificial lights which flickered, casting lingering shadows on the pale walls. She walked down the aisle between light wood pews on the black section of the carpet, being lead by small man carrying her hat on a burgundy pillow. He was one of the few people in the building, and all the other attendees, including the law enforcement officers, were on the front row waiting. All except the reassuring pinstripes and unkempt hair belonging to the Doctor, who was heard before he was seen, chiding the slow pace of the lady in front of him. Donna looked over her shoulder to see the diminutive figure carrying a white hat on a white pillow as the Doctor walked up the white section of the carpet down the aisle dressed in white, including his plimsoll shoes. It wasn’t a colour that suited him and it seemed to drain the colour from his cheeks. He looked like she felt, but she could play the role of noble lady until she was on the TARDIS.

“Late for your own wedding,” Donna whispered chidingly as the Doctor came to stand beside her.

“Not for the first time,” he exhaled a long breath, before adding a cheeky afterthought, “but better than missing the ceremony completely.”

The reference was not lost on Donna. “I could do with some Huon particles about now. Quick twist of the sonic screwdriver, and _whoosh_ the TARDIS comes to us, and we can get out of here.”

“Yeah, about that,” he began awkwardly. “I’m late joining you because they have been cataloguing the contents of my pockets. Psychic paper proved I’m a newly qualified doctor, but everything useful is in police custody until we’re bonded in marriage.”

“That’s odd,” Donna said, and showed her gloved right hand to him. “I’ve still got my ring.”

“Probably a class thing,” he sniffed, as he looked around the building. After a pause, he added seriously, “Thanks for doing this.”

“If the penalty had been chopping your hand off, you’d be growing another one back right about now,” she retorted. “Why do death and marriage go hand in hand?”

“Yeah, not something I can do all the time,” he clarified. “At least this marriage is fixed in space, and will be null and void as soon as the TARDIS dematerialises. We should stick around to wipe the records though, so the real Lady Noble can live undisturbed.”

After a beat, Donna’s irritation flared, “How am I supposed to marry you anyway? You don’t even have a name. Do you?”

Before the Doctor could reply, the priest appeared from a side door and smiled at both of them. He spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the front row, “Is there anyone here present that can give legal reason why these two should not be bonded in marriage?” There was a shuffling silence, which the priest took as a sign to continue.

He gestured at Donna, “Lady Noble, please step into the circle.” Donna obeyed and sidled forward. “Lady Noble, do you in the eyes of the law present yourself in able mind and body? To take a lesser caste person as your equal?”

Lesser? Donna liked the sound of that, and it mitigated her annoyance slightly. “I do,” she said, hoping it translated to whatever the priest was meant to hear.

“John Smith, Doctor,” the priest gestured to the Doctor. “Please join Lady Noble in the circle,” he instructed. The Doctor did so, standing beside her once more. “Kneel before her,” the priest continued solemnly, and Donna barely contained a snigger as the Doctor did as he was told. “Extend your palm to honour her house,” then the list of tasks continued. Donna figured this was the most the Doctor had ever entertained participating in other culture’s expectations. The Doctor held out his hand and Donna rested her ringed hand on it. He duly kissed Donna’s ring; she’d have to wash it.

“Lady Noble,” the priest addressed her, “adorn your chosen with his headdress.” The small woman with the white pillow stood on the edge of the circle. Donna picked up the white hat with both hands and placed it on the Doctor’s head, trying not to ruffle his hair. The priest seemed content with her actions.

The priest addressed the Doctor. “Rise to equal her standing. Honour her choosing of you by mirroring her actions.” The Doctor nimbly rose to his feet, took Donna’s hat off the burgundy pillow and repeated her adornment.

“Both take off your gloves,” the Priest directed. They did so, placing the gloves on the cushions. Donna put her ring back on and the priest joined their uncovered hands. “Know that from this point forward, the law permits you two to have intimate contact in public,” the priest announced. “Provided you are adorned with the headdress given by the other,” he added a little quieter. “Please, follow me for processing.”

Donna was pleasantly surprised at the shortness of the ceremony. “Was that it? No ‘you may now kiss the bride’? No intimate contact for Time Lord and Lady Noble?” she joked. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m still having nightmares about anchovies and ginger beer. And I’m picking bits of walnut out with my dental floss.”

“Please, place your hands in the moulds,” the priest gestured at a waist height table with large hand moulds on the surface before walking to the side door from which he had entered. The Doctor put his right hand in the matching shape while Donna put her left hand in the corresponding one. A sharp scratch stung Donna’s palm and she tore her hand off the surface to inspect the wound below her wedding finger. The Doctor lifted his hand and flexed his fingers, giving his palm a curious glance.

“Bloody hell,” Donna swore. “Data implants to prove marriage? Is everything kept on computer here?”

“They aren’t permanent,” the Doctor said as he continued to look at his wound. “They are composed of transition-alloys and your body will disintegrate them in a week or so.”

“You can tell that from a sharp scratch after a few seconds,” Donna began in her moody voice, “but took a big swig of cyanide before realising?” 

“This isn’t exactly designed to be hidden, or –,” suddenly the Doctor jerked, “Ouch! Argh, hand, arm, itches!”

Donna had little sympathy, “Doctor, you’d better not be allergic or dying,” she warned. “I’m running out of things to shock you with.”

The Priest returned and noted the Doctor’s dancing. “Oh, there is nothing on your record of sensitivities to the markers,” he apologised slightly. “Never mind. It will soon be over. Come this way for the secundum redimio.”

“Doctor, why’s he talking Latin?” Donna asked as they followed.

“He’s not.”

“Okay, smarty pants. Why am I _hearing_ Latin?”

“The TARDIS is being kind.”

“So where is he leading us? A police cell with a crass name?”

“To a room for disrobing,” the Doctor vocalised.

“About time,” Donna breathed in relief, which allowed some of her humour to resurface. “No offence, Doctor. But you look like a six foot rabbit in those white robes, like in the Harvey film. Or Donnie Darko. I was half expecting there to be Playboy bunny ears on the cushion.” At the Doctor’s confused and disbelieving look, Donna switched to more sensible reasoning, “Velvet’s better than layers of silk for practicality, but it ain’t half hot.”

***

“The walls are solid,” the Priest hummed. With that he closed the door, leaving Donna to quickly survey the room. It was slightly larger than the cell she had gotten changed in before, and the mattress actually had covers. The walls still had that pale, flickering quality to them, and the doors were a light coloured wood.

“I know we’re married now, but it’s a bit much to get changed in front of each other.” Donna walked around to the other side of the bed. “Where are the boxes with our normal clothes, and your possessions?” Donna returned to the door they had entered by, but after turning the handle found it to be locked. “Excuse me!” she shouted. “I know we married at short notice, and at your expense,” she conceded, “but you forgot to give us our clothes.”

“Donna, come over here,” the Doctor asked, and she went over to the other door in the opposite corner of the room. It had a pair of hand moulds similar to those the implants had been administered at. They both put their implanted palms in the casts, but nothing happened.

“Oh, great,” she irked. “Faulty door locks, so we can’t get our clothes.” Before she raised her decibel levels again, Donna had a thought, “Maybe it takes time for the data to be sent from that other mould to this one.”

The Doctor smiled consolingly, “Oh, Donna. I’m so sorry.” He rolled to slouch his back against the wall. “This room is still part of the marriage ceremony. It’s to ensure we take the marriage bond seriously.”

“What do you mean, seriously? How is marriage not serious?” she asked, before realisation dawned. Donna covered her mouth with her hand as she fell back onto the adjacent wall. “Consummation.“

“You wanted to come here,” the Doctor said quietly without looking at her. “Planet of the Hats.”

Donna was still reeling, “You knew about this - this ceremony - and you let me decide not to kill you!”

“Donna,” he began in his arguing tone, “not so long ago on your planet it was considered inappropriate for adults to touch in public without wedding bands.” He spun around and ran his fingers over the surface of the wall. “Here the band is around the head, not the finger. That’s how a planet can become known for its hats.”

“World War One was a long time ago,” she muttered.

“Linear time for a human, yes,” he pointed out. “TARDIS travel, no. And you piloted us here,” he added, which Donna had no comeback for. Instead, she focused on his current activity.

“Doctor, why are you tapping the wall with your fingers?”

“I’m resonating the concrete,” he sort of explained. “It would be better if I had my sonic screwdriver.” His tone took a meandering lilt, “I’ve become quite good at concrete resonating my way out of otherwise inescapable situations.”

“Resonating concrete?” Donna scoffed. “Is that a Time Lord euphemism for wall banging, Harvey?” She crossed her arms, “Well, I’ll turn around and cover my ears and you can leave your manly marks on the room for the Mad Hatters to look at. Play squash with the wall,” she joshed, “or some other solitary ball pursuit.”

The Doctor stopped what he was doing and looked at her perplexed. “Pardon?”

“You know, like when one of the Royal Family gets married, and the servants come in the following morning to check for little white wet patches on the rumpled sheets to ‘prove’ they consummated the marriage,” she clarified.

“Oh!” the Doctor realised what she meant, before shunning her idea. “No. I don’t work like that. Neither does their consummation proving system.” As if on cue a bright light flickered, leaving their silhouetted images on the surrounding walls. He licked the tip of his finger, “Actinic chemicals temporarily recording the positions we’re in.”

Donna looked sickened. “Is that to check we’ve left our hats on our heads, because it’s a public building?”

“And not wearing our hats like The Full Monty,” the Doctor replied breezily.

“Can’t we just fake it?” Donna asked hopefully, feeling they were running out of options. “Line up our shadow puppets and stand around for a bit?”

“These implants,” the Doctor showed his scarred palm, “monitor bio-activity, like lie detectors. That itching. That’s the implant flooding my synaptic receptors to detect pleasure, and you. That’s our key out of here.”

“But how does that work on someone non-human?” Donna cried. “They are obviously uptight about castes here."

"I don't know,” the Doctor admitted, “but it does.” He searched for a comparison, “Like that singular-progenitor machine."

Donna’s eyes went wide with fear. "Oh God! You and I aren't going to have little hybrids, are we?” She continued to fret, “I don't think I could cope with hair like yours on a kid, getting it into all sorts of trouble."

The Doctor hushed her and calmly said, "No hybrids or offspring of any description from this union. You’re not fertile at the moment."

“You can tell that?” she asked, slightly perturbed.

“Mint in 1926, remember?”

Donna did remember his apparent ability to tell the year by sniffing the air, and was sated by his general sensing rather than specifically looking for her fertility. The Doctor didn’t look any happier than she did about this arrangement, and there seemed no alternative. “Alright. Just get it over and done with.”

“Donna,” he smirked, “I'm over 900. Sex for my species is not quick. Not by anyone's standards, with or without ceremony. Your current infertility isn’t helping things progress, either.” He went on, “Plus, with these implants, you have to be pleasured as much as me.” He took her hand and turned her palm upwards, “The implants are keyed into us, our bond. Yours needs to be saturated with my body’s biology and your pleasure chemistry, and vice versa. Only then will the key fit the lock to get our clothes and get us out of here."

“At least they believe in equal pleasure,” Donna remarked as she looked at her injury. But as she tried to open up to the task her insecurities came to bare. “I put all this behind me. I gave up prospect fiancés and weddings and having a job the day I met you, the day I wanted to travel.”

“You don’t have to give up romance to travel,” the Doctor said softly, before sniffing, “I mean, don’t get me wrong. It gets complicated when the travel is through time. It’s best not to go looking for it, but sometimes it comes to you.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to have sex with an alien,” Donna breathed. The Doctor quirked his eyebrow, so she continued her list of things that weren’t helping. “Even out of your bigger-on-the-inside clothes, you’re a streak of nothing. I’ll never be able to look at you in the same way again.”

Donna’s words took a heartfelt turn, “I don’t want things to change. I want to travel with you, not have my Mum give you the once over and get pestered to look for a mortgage.”

The Doctor gave a sympathetic smile. For a moment he simply stood in front of her. Then he lifted his left hand and shadowed his fingers over Donna’s temple. “I can make it easier for you,” he whispered. “I can alter the memories of what we do in this room.”

“You what?” Donna shrieked, pulling herself out of his hands. “Is that what you do? Date rape?” In her shock and anger, her mind made connections, “Is that why it got _complicated_ with Martha, because you took advantage of her fancying you but she kept remembering what you made her forget? Go boiler bunny on you, did she?” Donna continued her conjecture, “What about Rose – did you lose someone who never asked questions of the memories you took?!”

Donna was silenced by the dark shadow that crossed the Doctor’s face. She had been terrified of what he was capable of committing, but it had never been directed at her. She feared she had questioned him too far, that this was the end of their travels. The silent treatment was always the worst.

He seemed to sense her fears and he calmed. “Donna, I’m not Lance,” he stated. “I’m not manipulating you to satisfy my plans to see the Universe.” His words became more earnest, “I travel alone, always carrying on when people…” he faltered and swallowed, “leave.”

“You need someone to stop you,” she reminded them, and it cleared the lingering clouds of doubt.

“I won’t keep you against your will,” he tendered. “I won’t take memories away from you, to deny you the personal knowledge to make informed consent. _A beautiful woman without a mind of her own leaves her lover with no resource after he had physically enjoyed her charms,”_ he quoted. “But I can make the memories a dream, if they stop you living the life you want.”

“This is a nightmare,” she said with a faint smile.

“Our awful wedded life,” he joined in, adding a larger smile.

“’til death do us part. Shag or die.” She braced herself before wondering, “There’s nothing weird I should know about, is there? I get the telepathy, but what about tentacles or giant stingers?”

The Doctor’s grin expanded with a hint of pride. “No tentacles. No giant stingers.” He quelled his exterior and seriously said, “If you promise not to stare, you shouldn’t notice anything outside expected human physical contact.”

Donna took in a huge breath, steeled herself, and grabbed the Doctor’s head.

***

“You stopped,” he noted.

“You squirmed,” she explained.

“It’s a commitment thing,” he faltered over his words.

“Yes, I can see that,” Donna retorted.

“No, I mean you’ve got to keep going, so I know you’re committed and I can… respond.”

“That’s not very human,” she commented.

“Not very human _male,_ from your time.”

“You are such a woman,” she teased.

“But never a wife,” he grinned.

Donna kissed the smile off his face while she held his head firmly. The Doctor’s feet still shuffled backwards, causing his back to arch further from the anchor of Donna’s hands. Eventually his lips relaxed fully, and she traced her tongue along his bottom bow. His hands came to gently rest over hers. Sensing he would keep his head relative to hers, she lessened her grip and began softly scratching her long nails over his stubble. He responded by parting his lips and hitching his breath, which eased passing her tongue into his mouth. She cooled her pace in contacting his more intimate flesh; he was barely warmer on the inside than the outside. It was a sharper contrast to her internal heat, and she pulled back slightly to form words.

“You’re still cold,” she whispered against his lips. “I thought it was just your energy saving on the TARDIS heating bill.”

The Doctor’s smile creased his skin under Donna’s hands. “It’s fine until my lips turn blue. Puteulanus Labia Oris.”

Donna snorted, “Less of the Latin Lover Linguistics, you.” Before he could say more, she joined their lips again. Though there was a sense of relief and relaxation now they had exchanged humour and words. Maybe Latin was his way of talking dirty, which was fine if it got things moving. All the men she had known were hot skinned, blue tongued, quick off the mark and to the point of no return; she was left holding them off while she caught up on her own, not proving her commitment. Suddenly she was empathising with the frustration of human males at the slow pace of self satisfaction in the face of feminine foreplay.

A bright flicker of light from the proving system left stars on the inside of Donna’s eyelids. It startled her into clawing her fingers into the Doctor’s jaw. He responded by planing his palms across the velvet on her arms, up over her shoulders and to the brim of her hat. Once there, he lifted it and threw it, Frisbee style, without even opening his eyes.

Donna had opened her eyes, though, at the sudden movement. “Good toss,” she remarked, seeing her hat had become stuck to the wall. “But aren’t they going to kill us at the lack of modesty?”

“They can’t condemn what they can’t see,” the Doctor said, settling his hands on her shoulders. “I’ve pinpointed the light’s origin and concealed it.”

“Thank God,” she exclaimed in relief. “I didn’t think I could keep my hat on, and I certainly didn’t want the lingering reminders on the walls.”

When Donna kissed him again, he cushioned the impact by puckering his lips; they both meant it. Donna made quick work of sliding her hands into his hair, dislodging the silly hat. The Doctor’s hands curved over her shoulders and down to her shoulder blades. He wasn’t closing the distance between them. She parted his lips with hers, inviting his tongue into her mouth with a slight inhalation. He didn’t resist the draw. She sucked on his tongue, and the Doctor made a squeaking sound in his throat as she swallowed. She fisted her hand and tugged on his hair the way he did, hoping to activate brain cells to cope with the present situation.

Finally, the Doctor animated to her touch. He opened his mouth wider and began playing the tip of his tongue along the ridges in the roof of her mouth. She felt herself respond by physically relaxing, which allowed a special tension to begin to pool. She couldn’t swallow with her head tilted back, allowing him better access to explore. Not that she was uncomfortable. Donna had no idea her mouth was so sensitive to pleasure, having only experienced pain at the instruments of dentists as they sucked the numbing saliva out. This encounter certainly wasn’t lacking in moisture, both internally and externally, as Donna’s fingers became coated with soft hair gel. Her left palm became itchy with the sustained contact, and rubbing her skin against the Doctor’s head to soothe it only made it worse. Keeping her right hand knotted in his hair, Donna pulled her head and left hand away in order to inspect the irritation. 

“What’s wrong?” the Doctor instantly asked in a worried tone.

“My palm’s itchy,” she frowned. Donna angled her hand to show him the site. In doing so, she saw how dark his eyes had become, which was no trick of the light. He’d obviously been affected by their engagement, but it was the only outward sign; the rest of him remained composed. Except for his hair and the smudged lipstick, but that wasn’t his doing. What he did do was lean his head forward and run the flat of his tongue over the indicated area. Under normal circumstances, Donna would be disgusted; he was licking a foreign wound covered in manufactured wax. Instead, she found herself temporarily paralysed at the gratifying, tingly sensation, save for an involuntary gasp. It had to be the implant, responding to the Doctor’s body as he pressed himself against it.

He progressed from her palm to trace each of her digits; his right hand came down to support her elbow as he applied firmer pressure with lips and tongue. The Doctor journeyed upwards, pulling the black velvet sleeve away as he kissed her from her wrist pulse point to her elbow crux. Now she’d recovered from the implant intensity, Donna slid her right hand over the Doctor’s creased nape and down his spine, discovering the concealed buttons to his robes. She left her other hand cradled against his clavicle as he rubbed his cheek against the bunched fabric to her shoulder, and she felt her tiny arm hairs prickle with the lubricated transferred wax.

The Doctor inhaled deeply at the crook in her neck, before moving up and lightly kissing her temple. He stood at his full height, closing the distance between their bodies. He rested his cheek against her fringe and exhaled through his mouth. Donna began unbuttoning the surgical-style gown single-handedly, starting at the small of his back and working her way up. Once she’d reached the top, she tugged the collar and pulled the left sleeve down; the right sleeve fell of its own accord. The Doctor lowered his arms to either side of her and gathered the material, before taking it behind him and tying the arms around his waist.

“Feeling modest?” she observed dryly.

“You can’t stare at what you can’t see,” he retorted, quirking his eyebrow.

Donna couldn’t help looking. He looked good, and human. The comparisons between former lovers reared in her head. Lance had preened and waxed all over; a smooth operator who projected confidence. The Doctor appeared natural and stood with quiet composure; covered with light hair and freckles though the skin had never seen the light of day. She brushed her right hand down to his chest and felt the regular double heartbeat; the only outward sign of his alien self. His skin was youthfully smooth and his hair soft. The Doctor watched her intently as she explored his cool silken skin, following her hands with his eyes as she circled her palms over his torso. Despite his lean stature he was solidly built. He broke into a lip curving smile when she tickled her nails over his sides, but his eyes locked with hers when she massaged her hands up his back. His irises were almost black, and he ran his hands over her shoulders and down her back, but only as far as her shoulder blades.

Donna thought he was mirroring her, so she slid her hands down to the small of his back. But he didn’t follow her. Instead, he followed his own path back to her shoulders, and from there smoothed down the velvet on her chest; all the time looking at her face with those eyes. Donna’s knees went weak under them, and she pulled tighter on his waist for support. Her heavy breathing was emphasised by the Doctor’s framing. He lightened his touch, and Donna then realised where he was touching her: The places she had exposed flesh to the world while she had travelled with him.

“You can touch me all over,” she said, and it seemed to help. He went to kiss her lips, then, but she turned her face away. Donna felt him back off almost imperceptibly, but she secured him in her arms. “Not the lips with a mouthful of wax,” she admonished. “I don’t want to be sealed with a kiss,” she added.

“You sure? The wax has UV filters, so it would make excellent lip gloss,” he reasoned seriously.

“I can deal with it in the places the sun don’t shine.”

The room went black; a response to the light coming on whilst covered with Donna’s hat. After the initial shock at the darkness, her remaining senses keened. Normally she loved the shadow, to hide her embarrassments and give in to carnal pleasure; allured to passion and heat. But here she felt alienated. The Doctor was so quiet and still, and cold. She’d lost sight of his only sign of interest – his eyes.

“Doctor?” she asked quietly in the dark. “How am I supposed to tell you’re alright? I can’t see if your lips turn blue.”

“If they do turn blue, I’ll start chattering. Then I’ll stop chatting altogether.”

“Like I can tell that,” she laughed. “You’ve never been so quiet. Don’t you ever get out of breath when you’re excited?”

“Respiratory bypass supported by binary vascular system. Something William Harvey would have loved to have gotten his scalpel into,” he declared.

Donna didn’t know what he was talking about, but would humour him if it helped. “Wait, don’t tell me – you escaped the blade in the nick of time?”

“A human anatomy book declaring blood is pumped, not sucked, into flowing,” he continued on this tangent.

Donna could tell this was distracting. “For normal flow,” she stated, before clamping her mouth above his clavicle and drawing his flesh into her mouth. The Doctor pressed his thumbs into her collarbone; the mirrored contact seemed to heighten the sensation for both of them, as they both peeped. The Doctor’s head lolled forward onto her hair. One of his hands trailed upwards, making a cool line up her jugular, along her jaw and coming to rest on her temple.

“You sure about this,” he whispered by her ear, “this connection?”

Donna assumed he meant the telepathic link. “No taking,” she iterated. “No dreaming.”

“Thank you,” he said with fervour; the most passion she’d heard from him in this encounter. He brought his other hand up and patterned his fingertips symmetrically over her head. Donna pictured him closing her eyes as she did, anticipating a mute voice of the Doctor’s slow burning. To her surprise, she went dizzy; everything black and fuzzy. The Doctor snaked his arms around her back. Whether it was the mirroring or the mental link, the sensation jolted again, sparking her desire. If this kept happening, Donna wouldn’t last very long.

Fortunately, the Doctor’s enthusiasm shot up. “Oh, oh!” he exclaimed. “This is brilliant!” He bunched the velvet in the small of her back. “The implants, they think we are joined physically and they are accelerating my biology.” His hands fiddled with the buttons of her robes. “I can do this quickly!” 

Donna never thought she’d be glad a man said that. It was a dream come true, and she would be able to tell if he was faking it. The reverse applied, and thoughts of if he’d be inhibited by her unnaturally maintained physique came forward as he popped the last button and helped the robes off her arms. She had no opportunity to tie her clothes around her waist, and they snagged slightly on the rib of his sleeves before pooling around her feet. The cool air contacting her exposed skin was little preparation for his cool skin as he stood flush against her; her nipples rose exquisitely. He pressed his palms over her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

When his hands brushed over her bra straps, it was her turn to flinch backwards. He sensed this, she could tell in her mind. The Doctor made no attempt to hold her to him, or push her. He simply traced over the cotton fabric; first with his fingers, then with his lips. She responded, first with a gasp and then in kind, by raking her nails along his shoulder blades and kissing his clavicle. Again the mirroring enhanced the sensations. He tasted like honey, she thought, and he obviously heard because an image of licking salt materialised in her mind. Donna was slightly disconcerted at the speed of thought, so decided to level the playing field by undoing the knot holding up his robes. He let them fall, and as he stepped out of them he instigated his legs between hers.

The physical domain was hers, but she didn’t - couldn’t - deny the allure of the mental. The Doctor needed the telepathy for this to work, and it – he – was saturating her senses. She pictured bees being drawn to a honey pot. He pictured detoxification. The irony of salt and shock saving his life before and now, and his assertion that sex wasn’t a part of future attempts wasn’t lost on either of them. She didn’t need to see to know he was smiling. She could feel it, in her mind and against her skin. But the mental banter was exhausting and giving her a headache; it wasn’t a pounding she could take. Those body parts were unaccustomed to such activity, and she’d rather be running from danger, hand in hand with the Doctor. Not that her jelly legs would carry her far at the moment.

“Let’s get you off your feet, then,” the Doctor said out loud, which surprised her ears. Had they ever been so quiet? There was a rustling of fabric as he stepped backwards, distancing himself physically and mentally. Donna found she missed both. The Doctor reached for her implanted hand with his and pulled her towards him. She fell with him onto the mattress behind him, and as he bounced to a sitting position she realised he was naked. He continued to sit respectfully, only holding her hand which told his reactions to her and nothing more pressing. Her patented shoes squeaked as she slipped them off and straddled her knees either side of his thin hips. He made no complaint about her weight, not in voice or in feeling. He didn’t care what shape she was. He only wanted to please her, and revelled in the sensations he invoked in her, down to the tiniest prickle of stubble hair across his thighs. He noticed these things, and the link made her aware of them, too. There was a detachment, though, and Donna wondered how much better it would feel if they wanted to complicate things. Human men had wanted her and used her to meet their own needs, while the Doctor wasn’t interested but cared deeply about her enjoyment. The Doctor squeezed her hand.

“Donna Noble, let’s shag like bunnies,” he declared, clearly relishing his swift progress.

“Oh God,” Donna groaned as the Doctor’s fingers wiped across her sweaty knee and towards her knickers. “Don’t you dare mention rabbit holes, or red pills,” she warned.

“Don’t call me God. It gives me a bad complex,” he pouted, or so it sounded in the air. The interpretation was fuelled by the tickling of her curls as he pulled the damp fabric to one side. “Deep breath; don’t want you to faint,” the Doctor added seriously. Donna did so reactively, and found she couldn’t exhale when she was fully penetrated by a frigid shaft. Whatever she had imagined, it felt bigger on the inside; he wasn’t a streak of nothing. She bolted upright and mouthed silently, incoherently, and found the Doctor was doing the same. 

“Oh my… that’s - “

“Burning,” the Doctor finished for them.

Donna didn’t want to sit back down, and grabbed the Doctor’s head to find some balance. Instead her implant tingled as it seared into his temple. He pushed his palm into her folds without forethought, but she didn’t jump. It completed their connection and found balance in dichotomy. The man that claimed to see everything was captivated by her and this was their song: her above, him below, panting into each other’s ear by her implant; her rhythm, his stillness as she drove the physical; her hot, him cool, the burning sensation of him first entering her body never waned; his loneliness bayed by her humanity; Doctor, Donna, DoctorDonna, “Doctor!” Donna trilled her voice while her body was in tremolo; timely plucked by the Doctor, whose voice broke and was shortly followed by short coughs that jerked his head from her hands. 

“Prima donna, allegretto con fuoco,” he announced, then swallowed audibly and coughed again. Donna came down from her pleasure quickly because of her concern for him; surely they had done enough to have the key activated.

“Doctor? You alright?” she asked the obvious, but she was blind. She hoped the TARDIS was being kind with the Latin words, rather than having damaged the Doctor; maybe his tongue was being blue, or maybe his lips. But she felt him nod vigorously, which was a relief. Until she noticed he was still solid inside her. “Doctor, have you cut your key?” she euphemised. “I don’t want to be a key on my own, again, destined to die in a dark hole because of a bad marriage,” she added nervously, and her lips started quivering.

“Shh,” he soothed. “I’m right here with you.” The Doctor brushed back errant strands of hair from her face and gently placed his fingers at her temple. She didn’t feel any different when he moved them away, but any comment was compressed in her throat as he somehow flipped her to his side and flat on her back. With the spring of the mattress she was free of him. Apart from the saliva and wax, and whatever he had left inside her, while he busied himself with getting some clothes on. She sat up and expected some… sliding. But none came.

His hand cleanly found hers in the dark, and she stood up and let him lead her to the door. The hand moulds recognised their combined imprint, and Donna was so relieved when the door opened. She might have given the Doctor a hug, had she not been standing in just her underwear. He had ventured through the doorframe first, and the blue light of the screwdriver was too bright and painful for her eyes.

“Can we have some proper light? But not flashing,” she clarified.

“You have this,” the Doctor gave her the sonic screwdriver, “and get changed in the cupboard. I’ll fix the photographer.” Donna did so, and when she returned to the main chamber there was a mid-tone to the walls but no solid silhouettes. In fact, the errant grey lines on the wall looked suspiciously like the Doctor’s hair. He was just dressed in a t-shirt and trousers. And his plimsolls, she noted, and couldn’t help laughing that it had been so quick for him that he hadn’t even taken off his shoes. The Doctor gave her a puzzled look, and she merely pointed at the source of her mirth. “I have cold feet,” he justified, which made it harder to keep the giggling at bay.

The Doctor disappeared in to the cupboard while she found her shoes amidst the discarded robes. He returned fully dressed in his familiar layers and pinstripes, and holding two small, straight sided glasses filled with an orange coloured liquid. “It’s a digestif,” he explained. “It realigns the body after physical excess.” He sniffed the substance, “Vanilla, aniseed, citrus and ginger, all floating on orange juice and fermented apricots. Compliments of our captors.”

Donna needed to no encouragement and downed the shot in one. It wasn’t as alcoholic as she had hoped, and she had an aftertaste of salted honey which didn’t surprise her. The Doctor returned the glasses to the cupboard and donned his headdress. Donna scraped her hair back into a loose ponytail and hid the rest under her hat. The Doctor reached for her hand and she scoffed. “You must be joking in this place.”

“To disable the implant,” he said quietly. Donna offered her hand and the blue light of the sonic screwdriver played over her hand. “And to keep up appearances until we’re inside the TARDIS,” he added once he’d finished. At her wary glance he said, “I promise to keep one hand on my hat all the way there.”

***

Once they were both safely inside the TARDIS, the Doctor threw the ceremonial hat straight into the air as if he had graduated for real. The garment didn’t come back down. He bounded up the ramp to the console and began typing furiously at the keypad, while Donna sidled onto the flight seat with her hat in her hand. “There,” he said. “The resident Lady Donna Noble was never married, now I’ve altered the data file,” he announced, before busying himself with controls for dematerialisation. “And when I press this lever, we will cease to be married, too.” He activated the control, and in the shuddering shift into the Vortex he smiled widely as he looked at the moving central column.

Once they were in stable flight, he turned to normal conversation. “Do you know what I could do with?” he asked in that beaming tone that said he would answer. “A cup of tea. A good, English brew. Nothing better to realign the synapses,” he rattled off as he walked over to her with his hands in his pockets. His demeanour soon changed when he realised her sullen mood. Fighting external aliens was easy, and decisions were made lighter with a partner to support you. Changing your relationships was hard; one small act could complicate things and there was no going back.

“Do you want to go back?” he asked quietly whilst resting his chin on his chest. “Make it a dream, something you choose to forget.”

“No,” she said emphatically. They both looked up and at each other with her word. “If we forget our past we are condemned to repeat it,” she reasoned. She continued, “You babble about things I don’t understand, but I couldn’t travel with you if there was this doubt that I should understand. When would it stop?” 

They continued to regard each other. “Besides, you have to remember, and that’s not fair. If I could make today a dream for you, would you?”

“No,” he confirmed, and gave a breathless laugh which brought an understanding smile to her face.

“Just because we remember doesn’t mean we ever have to mention it,” she specified.

“The Doctor and Donna Noble,” he announced. “Just good friends.”

“Do you know what I could do with?” she returned the conversation to its original flow. “A long soak in a really, really sunny and expansive space.”

“A beach holiday!” the Doctor beamed. “Where do you want to go?” he asked as he began flicking controls on the console. “Barcelona, the planet? The city in the twenty-first century? The Maldives? Mind you, we could turn up when there’s more water than landing space.”

“You choose,” Donna decided, as she got up. “You drive. Oh, and no hats, normal dress code and normal sun block.”

~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> The quote is by Casanova.  
> ‘Prima donna, allegretto con fuoco’ is Italian music terms for ‘first lady joyful pace with fire’ but it sounds like ‘Donna regret fuck.”  
> ‘secundum redimio’ is Latin for ‘after binding’  
> Harvey Wallbanger mentions include:  
> \- The digestif  
> \- The film Harvey featuring a 6’ white pooka rabbit  
> \- William Harvey the scientist who rediscovered how blood moved in humans  
> \- Wallbangers are card board cut outs of sporting action shots that you hang on your wall (the lingering shadow effect is a feature on the science floor of Blackpool Tower; I spent much of my youth timing my jumps to the flash.)  
> \- Squash is referred to as a wallbanger sport


End file.
